In The Club
by BlameThePlotBunnies
Summary: "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked Omega!Sherlock/Alpha!Lestrade Teenlock. Mpreg. Warnings for M/M relationship, Mpreg, angst and cuteness. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N Okay, I wrote this using the alpha/beta/omega dynamics... which I know naff all about if I'm honest, so it's more my version of the dynamics. This is my first foray into these dynamics, teenlock and mpreg, all at once, (feeling brave here!), so please be nice!**_

**Oh, and the Holmes boys get along in this one... I know, mad right? ;)**

Sherlock Holmes was seventeen years old. He was also an omega, much to his parents' horror. And when he said 'horror', he meant 'horror'. They'd schooled it into him since the day he'd presented at fifteen: don't have sex. No exceptions.

His brother, older and wiser than him at twenty-four - not to mention out from under Mummy's beady eye - had been providing him with contraceptives in secret ever since. 'Just in case', Mycroft had said the first time. Sherlock had known his brother would understand. Mycroft was a beta but he knew enough about omega physiology to know that Sherlock would relieve the discomfort of his heat at some point. 'You should have a choice to be safe about it', he'd said when they'd talked about it in more depth - the first time Sherlock had stayed with him at his London flat.

Mycroft was the one person he trusted enough to go to for advice. So when he found himself with a problem of a kind that only an omega could have, Sherlock did what was, to his mind at least, the only thing he could do. He got on a train to London and got a cab from King's Cross to his brother's office. He let himself in with a pass card Mycroft had given him 'for emergencies' and hurried past the deserted reception desk. He stabbed impatiently at the lift button for the fourth floor.

Mycroft's office was the fourth door on the left; standing outside, Sherlock took a deep breath - and then two more for good measure - then knocked.

"Come." Instructed his brother's, slightly peeved, voice. Sherlock entered, swallowing nervously. Of course, he thought as he entered and discovered why his brother had sounded peeved, of course he was in a meeting. He needn't have worried though, the moment Mycroft saw that it was him, all annoyance receded from his features to be replaced in turn by surprise, then delight, followed promptly by a hint of worry.

"Sherlock!" He exclaimed "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I need to speak with you. Urgently." He cast a glance at his brother's companions "And privately." He added.

"Of course." Mycroft said, looking a shade more worried as he nodded towards a door that, Sherlock knew, lead into a small seating area that doubled as Mycroft's bedroom when he was extremely busy. That was more often than not these days. "I shall join you presently." Sherlock nodded smartly once and headed into the next room, where he sat and fretted for nearly fifteen minutes before his brother at last entered.

"Brother-mine, what on earth is wrong?" He exclaimed, immediately upon closing the door behind him.

Sherlock opened his mouth and froze. Where the hell did he start?

"I find the beginning is always an excellent place to begin a tale." Mycroft said, softly, as though he'd read his brother's mind.

Sherlock watched as Mycroft settled himself in the armchair opposite him and then, slowly, he began - as suggested - at the beginning. "I've been using… those things you get me." He began, awkwardly

"You are at perfect liberty to do so, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, smiling slightly. "I am, however, glad to hear you're being responsible about safety." Sherlock blanched. Mycroft hadn't noticed. Well, if his brother hadn't noticed, at least he could hope to fool Mummy and Daddy for a while longer, he thought, desperately trying to stay positive. "Who is he?"

Sherlock licked his lips. "His name is Greg."

"Not Greg as in the Greg you've had a crush on since primary school?" Mycroft asked, grinning

"That's him." Sherlock confirmed, quickly. "There was a party."

"Oh?" A slight frown creased his brother's brow at this.

"We… went together. I swear I'd taken my pill, I wasn't in heat or anything. "

"Then I see no problem." Mycroft replied, shrugging patiently.

Sherlock licked his lips again. "I haven't had a heat since." He confessed, finally.

Mycroft's face was smooth, his voice perfectly calm as he replied: "You're pregnant."

Sherlock refused to meet his gaze, preferring instead to gaze at the plush red carpet as he nodded the affirmative.

"Sherlock. Look at me please."

Sherlock complied, reluctantly.

"It will all be okay. I promise you that much." Mycroft said, earnestly, leaning forward in his chair to take both of his brother's hands in his own reassuringly.

"Mummy and Daddy-" Sherlock began

"Will have their own opinion," Mycroft cut in smoothly "to which they are entitled. What it is, however, is not relevant."

Sherlock looked up in surprise "It isn't?"

"Not in the slightest." Mycroft assured him, gently. "Now, have you told him? Greg I mean."

Sherlock shook his head. "It was a once off, we were drunk and everyone was doing it. He won't want to know."

"Sherlock! What have I told you? Drinking alcohol negates the pill!"

"You never-" Sherlock paused "Okay, I may have deleted it." He said, thoughtfully.

"Well for goodness sake recover it this instant! Dear lord!" Mycroft replied, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb for a moment "Now, I advise you to tell him, soon, before he finds out by some other means."

"I-"

"Sherlock, wouldn't you want to know? If you were in his shoes?"

"I suppose." Sherlock allowed, grudgingly

"Then you must tell him. If he wants nothing to do with it, then that is his decision, but it is not one that you can make for him. He must be given the choice."

"You're assuming that I'm keeping it."

Mycroft looked at him sharply "Aren't you?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, quietly "It's what Mummy will want."

"And I have told you it makes no difference! You must make your decision, whatever it may be, because this is your body and your baby. Leave Mummy and Daddy to me."

"But they'll-"

"Leave them to me." Mycroft repeated, firmly. "Now, how far overdue are you?"

"Three weeks, but it's five since the party."

"Then we still have some time until the decision is no longer yours. I suggest that you make up your mind as soon as possible. At that point we can make any necessary arrangements."

"I can't raise it alone Myc."

"You don't yet know that you'll have to."

"We can pretty safely assume. Could you arrange it?"

"Arrange it?"

"You know…"

"An abortion?"

"Mmm." Sherlock replied, fiddling with a stray thread on the sleeve of his tan jacket.

"I could," Mycroft said, reluctantly, "if necessary."

"Will you, please?"

"Sherlock, if you cannot say the word, how can you expect to fare undergoing such a procedure?"

"Abortion." Sherlock replied coldly, his voice emotionless.

Mycroft surveyed him for a moment, almost sadly. "Very well, if you wish, I shall arrange it."

"Good."

"You still must tell him Sherlock."

"Let me worry about that." Sherlock insisted.


	2. Chapter 2

It was some time before Mycroft could arrange the abortion. Finding a reputable doctor willing to perform that kind of procedure on someone of Sherlock's bloodlines was difficult, no matter what fee was offered. In spite of this, Mycroft had to admit - although never to Sherlock - that he could have arranged it faster. He couldn't help feeling that, although his brother clearly had no intention of telling the father, the boy deserved a chance to know, even if it meant finding out by himself. The input of Greg - whom Mycroft had had vetted the moment Sherlock left his office that evening - would probably at least prompt his brother to think about his plans a little more carefully, to be sure of his actions, instead of making panicky decisions.

Sherlock bumped into Greg in the car park on the way out of school about three weeks later.

"Sherls!" Greg called, jogging across from where he'd parked his motorbike - Sherlock couldn't help but notice he was all clad in those figure-hugging leathers again - "Hey ya! Long time no see, where have you been hiding yours-" Greg broke off suddenly, his nostrils flaring.

How could he have forgotten? Sherlock chastised himself. How could he have forgotten that alpha's could smell pregnancy hormones, and even their own DNA? How?

"Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…

Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."

"You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.

Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of."

"Don't you want it?"

"It's impractical." Sherlock replied, avoiding Greg's gaze.

"Course it is." Greg replied, hollowly, his eyes showing disbelief.

"Neither of us is ready for this."

"Speak for yourself."

"In this world, I have to." Sherlock replied, quietly, finally seeking out the other boy's eyes "No one else will."

Greg stared at him for the longest time, resignation barely concealing the hurt in his eyes. Something like guilt stirred in Sherlock's chest, but what else could he do?

"I guess it's your decision." Greg said, eventually. "But if you change your mind-" Sherlock glared and Greg held his hands up in a mock surrender gesture "I'm not saying you will, but if you do, come and tell me, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded once, a brisk acknowledgement of understanding and nothing more. His face was emotionless, blank. "Well, I'll see you around." He said, turning to go

Suddenly Greg thought of something. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Sherlock half-turned back "Sorry?"

"When you go to… you know."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised.

"If you want me there."

"Why would I want you there?" Sherlock asked, winced and blushed "That didn't come out right."

"It's okay. I dunno… moral support I s'pose. It's supposed to be scary, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded, "Very well then. I'll let you know when it is."

"Okay."

Sherlock hesitated before asking "You want me to keep him, don't you?"

"I… him?" Greg queried

"It. Whatever."

"Why him though?"

"Him, her, it, what's the difference?"

"There isn't one, I s'pose…" Greg said, but he gave him an odd look "I won't lie, I'd be happy to have a kid now, yeah, but I also want you, and if you're not ready, then I don't wanna force you."

"You want me?"

"Well… yeah. Wait, you didn't think- I don't do that with just anybody Sherls." He finished, with a tiny embarrassed smile on his face

"You really want… me?"

"Yeah. Have done since I met you."

"Even though I'm going to…"

"Yeah." Greg replied, softly, nodding and chewing on his lip, the way he always did when he was nervous.

"Oh."

"So… do you wanna give it a go? Us."

"I'll make mistakes." Sherlock warned

"So will I." Greg shrugged

"I'm hard and cold." Sherlock added

"You could've fooled me the other night. Hard maybe, but cold… uh-uh." Greg replied shaking his head with a slight smiled.

Sherlock blushed furiously. "Well okay then."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Does it change anything?"

"No."

"No. I didn't think so."

"Goodnight Greg."

"Night Sherlock."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N If the text is centralised, it's a text conversation, just fyi. The font dictates the person.**

_This is Mycroft, __**and this is Sherlock.**_

Sherlock lay in the dark that night, tossing and turning in his four-poster bed, unable to sleep. He wanted to feel happy, and a part of him did. The part that had wanted Greg to notice him since he was ten. Greg's words kept floating in his head though, and not the ones he wanted to listen to again

_"It's supposed to be scary isn't it?"_

_"I won't lie, I'd be happy to have a kid now, yeah."_

_"Him? Why him?"_

And that was the bit that had really gotten to him. Why him? Why had that word slipped from his mouth? This _thing_ was too young to have a gender, but suddenly he was certain it was a him. Why did he have to be certain about that? Personifying _it_ was only going to make it harder to do this. Wait, harder? It wasn't going to be hard to do this was it? It was the logical option. Of course it wasn't going to be hard… was it?

He tossed and turned until well into the early hours of the next morning before he finally dropped off into a restless sleep, punctuated by dreams of hospitals and surgeons and images of Greg's pained face when he'd said he wouldn't be 'in the club' much longer. All in all he was glad to get out of bed the next morning.

Or so he thought, until about half past ten, when his text alert sounded. For the first time in his memory, his heart sank when he saw it was Mycroft. He forced himself to open it anyway. This was what he wanted.

_It's all set. 6.30pm. I'll pick you up at 6. Pack a bag, they'll keep you overnight._

This was what he wanted. So why had his heart sunk even lower?

The gown felt odd against his skin, and Greg had only partly been right, it wasn't just scary, it was terrifying. He would have traded the world to have texted Greg to meet him the way he'd said he would now. He longed for a warm leather and apple shampoo scented hug. He longed for a smile. He longed for anything but the cold steel of the table against his back and all these people in scrubs and masks coming and going.

The latest one stepped through the door and addressed him, brightly. Too brightly for that kind of procedure, Sherlock thought. "Mr. Holmes." The doctor said with a smile that didn't reach his grey eyes. "I'm Dr Drayson and I'll be performing your procedure today. Has a nurse explained the procedure to you?" Sherlock nodded, mutely. "Good. Well, we're all set to begin." The doctor said, sitting himself down on a stool next to the table. "Now you have nothing to worry about, just sit back and relax, and when you're ready, we'll begin." Sherlock sat for a minute. Then two. Then three. Then he realised what he longed for the most. He rest a hand on his belly for a moment. It hadn't changed shape yet, but it would he knew. He looked up at the doctor, suddenly

"I'm sorry Dr. I've wasted your time." He said, sitting up and sliding off the table.

_8.22pm: Sherlock. Where are you? They said you changed your mind. Why didn't you call me?_

_8:40pm: Sherlock, answer my calls, where are you?_

_9.02pm: Just let me know that you're safe, Sherlock, please!_

_9.25pm: Sherlock for god's sake!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed, as he opened the front door. "What are you doing he- what the hell kind of top are you wearing?" He said, referring to the blue… _thing_ tucked into Sherlock's usual skinny jeans

"It's a hospital gown, and it's actually quite cold out here."

"Come in." Greg replied hurriedly, stepping out of the way.

"Greg?" Called a woman's voice "Who is it?"

"Um, it's Sherlock mum." Greg called back, shoving the door closed and gesturing up the stairs "I'm first on the right, why are you wearing a hospital gown?"

"I didn't text you."

"What? But you're still… aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded

"You want me to come with you now, is that it?" He asked as Sherlock sat on his bed and he dropped into his desk chair.

"No, it's just… It's complicated."

"Right, well, if it's complicated, do you want a top and a cuppa before we start?"

"Please."

Greg stood up and began rummaging in the chest of drawers behind the door. After a moment or two, he produced a bottle green hoodie with a green-day logo splashed across the front and a pac-man t-shirt "Might be a bit big." He said, apologetically, as he handed them to Sherlock who swiftly stripped off his usual brown suede jacket

"Um, could you-?" He gestured at the ties on the back of his gown which Greg quickly unlaced for him, before disappearing downstairs to make some tea.

"So. Who's Sherlock?" Greg's mother pounced on him as he walked into the kitchen.

"He's that omega I told you about." Greg replied shortly, quickly flicking the kettle on and grabbing mugs out of the cupboard

"Ooh yes, I remember. So, are you two together now then? Is this a booty call?" She winked

"Muuum!" Greg groaned "No! Well… yes, we're together, but no! With you guys here? No!"

"Well we wouldn't disturb you sweetheart!"

"Mum. No. Stop. Now." Greg said, his cheeks scarlet

"Alright alright, I'm only teasing. I just know you're all grown up now, my little boy."

"Maybe more than you know." He muttered, as he spooned sugar into the mugs.

"And what's that supposed to mean, mister?" She said, resting her hands on her hips and giving him that look that said, 'it doesn't matter how grown up you are, I am still your mum and you're never too old for a clip round the ear!'… although admittedly these days, she'd probably have to stand on a chair to reach his ear, what with him being a good foot taller than her and all.

"Just let me talk to Sherlock, then I'll be able to explain." He said, grabbing the mugs and sidestepping past her out of the kitchen.

"Tea up!" Greg said, by way of a greeting as he entered the room. Sherlock was laying on his back on the bed, dressed in Greg's jumper now, the hem reaching the middle of his thighs and the sleeves covering his hands. He scrambled into a sitting position.

"Thanks." He said, taking the mug Greg proffered, which was blue and bore a Tetley's logo. "Who's that?" He nodded at the picture on Greg's desk, as Greg sat back down in the desk chair. He glanced at the silver framed photo of him and a young girl with the same beaming smile as his.

"That? That's Molly, my baby sister. We went to a funfair last summer."

"She has your smile."

"Yeah, is a family thing. Look, Sherls…" He tailed off awkwardly

"Why did I turn up on your doorstep in a hospital gown?"

"Well, yeah."

"You asked me if I wanted you to come with me."

"Yeah. Of course I will, if that's what you want."

"Well it's not what I want."

"O-kaay…" Greg looked confused and a little hurt.

"Only because I'm not going."

"You mean-?"

"I mean I went and they were about to start and suddenly all I wanted was to hold my baby in my arms, so I did a bunk."

"Sherls, that's…" Suddenly Greg gave him that grin, the one that had hooked him in the first place. "That's fantastic!" He scrambled out of the chair and on to the bed, leaning in to hug him close. For a moment Sherlock hesitated, as though uncertain, then he wrapped his arms around Greg and buried his face in the older boy's shoulder.

**_9.36pm: Mycroft, I'm fine, stop panicking, you're getting worse than Mummy. - SH_**

_9.37pm: Where in the name of god are you?!_

**_9.39pm: Greg's. - SH_**

_9.40pm: Would it really have inconvenienced you to reply to my texts?_

**_9.43pm: Yes. I was busy explaining how I'm now actually going to have his babies. - SH_**

_9.44pm: Good lord, at last!_

_9.45pm: Wait, babies? Plural?_

_9.56pm: Sherlock Holmes, answer me this instant!_

**End Note: Ahha! Now be honest, you weren't expecting that were you? ;) No. Neither was Mycroft, obviously.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Umm… Greg…" Sherlock said, looking up from where he was snuggled on his side against Greg's chest, phone in his hand. They'd both been lying on his bed for the last fifteen minutes and it was only now that something occurred to Sherlock

"Hmm?" A slightly sleepy looking Greg replied, opening his eyes.

"I forgot to mention something… They did some checks while I was there… heartbeat and all that."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm… there's two."

"What?"

"Heartbeats."

Greg stared at him for a moment. "So let me get this straight, you're either telling me we're going to have a timelord-" Sherlock rolled his eyes, a small smile creeping onto his face. "or, you've got twins in there."

"Twins."

"I'd guessed." Greg looked thoughtful for a moment "You know what?"

"What?"

"That's fantastic too!" He grinned, hugging Sherlock tighter to him

"Yeah." Sherlock agreed, hugging him back.

**_10.02pm: I'm having twins. And apparently it's 'fantastic'… - SH_**

_10.03pm: Congratulations?_

**_10.04pm: Yes, thank you. - SH_**

**_10.05pm: What the hell am I going to tell Mummy and Daddy? - SH_**

_10.06pm: I suggest you tell them they're going to be grandparents._

**_10.07pm: Apparently we're telling Greg's mum now… Oh hell. - SH_**

"Are you going to explain now?" Were the first words out of Greg's mother's mouth when he walked into the sitting room towing a very nervous looking Sherlock by the hand.

"Mum, I'm going to be a dad." Greg replied.

"So this _was_ a booty call?" She said, smiling cheekily.

"Muuum!" Greg exclaimed, indignantly "I'm trying to be serious here!"

"Ooh, pardon me for trying to lighten the mood." She said, swatting him. "Sherlock dear," She said, turning to him "the one thing you need to know about my Greg is that he was born thirty. If there was anyone I expected to be having babies at this age it was him. Always playing will Molly's dolls weren't you?"

"Muuum!" Greg groaned again

Sherlock grinned at the image, but frowned again almost immediately "This should be more of a challenge. You see, Mrs. Lestrade, I'm actually having twins."

"Oh it's Lauren dear, and that's lovely news! Two bonny little babes, they're bound to be bonny, just look at the pair of you!" Greg face-palmed, Sherlock blushed. Lauren Lestrade laughed, "Ooh sit down, you two, let's talk babies!"

**_11.12pm: That was remarkably painless. Staying the night. - SH_**

**End Note: Okay, so just one or two more chapters to go now, methinks... Wonder what Mr and Mrs Holmes will make of two babies... and Greg... they've never met Greg, will they like him? Don't ask me, the plot bunnies won't tell me til' I sit down to write it! ****Enjoy the wait everyone, because I am a sadistic person by nature ;) **

**I promise the next chapter will be up as soon as possible, but right now I have a date with the dalai lama... (don't look at me like that, it's for uni!) xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Okay, this chapter is spaced out kind of oddly. That's because I tried to mimic Sherlock's thoughts, which had a bit of a hiccup, bless them. Had to happen sometime ;) sorry if it's confusing. Also, small warning, this one gets a bit sweary in places. **

**Enjoy lovlies! xx**

Sherlock had returned to his parents' at about half past five on Sunday afternoon, just as he would have done if he had actually been staying with Mycroft for the weekend, as he had originally told his mother he was. Mycroft has had a car pick him up from the end of Greg's street for the sake of appearances. After delivering a cursory 'Good evening, Mummy-dear' to his mother in the drawing room, he had retreated upstairs and locked himself in his bedroom. He reached for his violin, thoughtfully, and started upon a long and soothing piece of his own composition. Classical music was supposed to be good for child development, wasn't it? And even if it wasn't, he conceded, it was doing his nerves the power of good.

It was a short-lived relief however, although he was not aware of this fact when his text alert first sounded.

_5.58pm: Sherlock, I have news._

**_5.59pm: Well get on with it then - SH_**

_6.00pm: Brace yourself. Daddy will be home on Monday evening._

No.

No.

No.

His father was an alpha. He would _know_. Sherlock wouldn't have to tell him that he was pregnant - that was a blessing at least, but it was about the only one. Daddy would be so sweet, so very, very sweet about it.

At first…

He would say it was fine, then that he'd 'sort it'. Sherlock wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant, and he wasn't going to be able to stay silent about having run out on his abortion.

If he did, his father would find out the moment he tried to arrange another one anyway.

And then there was the small matter of Greg. He would want to be there, and god knew, Sherlock was going to bloody-well need him there, but he was going to be about as welcome at Holmes Manor as… well, something really, really unwelcome.

And then there was the other thing. The big thing. The big thing he'd never told his parents about. The preference thing. That was going to be blatantly obvious when they saw Greg. No one in their right mind could mistake _him_ for a girl.

Oh God.

Oh Christ.

Oh Jesus-fuck-no.

He couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. The bow he'd still been holding loosely in one hand slipped from his numb fingertips and clattered to the floor. The noise was muffled in his head, as though someone had clapped their hands over his ears - as his mother used to do when he was small she thought he was too young to hear something - not quite totally blocking out the sounds.

Everything seemed unreal.

Nerveless fingers slithered on the buttons of his phone.

Reply? No.

Back? Yes, home screen.

Contacts.

G.

G for Greg. Yes.

Greg. Dial.

Dailling…

Please answer.

_Riiiing-Riiiing_

Please.

_Riiiing-Riiiing_

Please.

_Riiiing-Rii- _"Hello?"

And suddenly the reality came crashing back in and he was sobbing. Sobbing-gasping-choking-howling.

"Sherls?" Greg's voice asked, urgently, worriedly. "Sherls, what is it? What? Tell me, please. Please, tell me." With every word Greg sound more frantic. "Sherls, talk to me! Sherls… please, you're scaring me… Look, are you home? I'll come over, I'll- Sherls, whatever's happened, it's okay, I promise. I promise it's going to be okay. I'm on my way over, okay?"

"N-no!" Sherlock choked finally

"No?"

"You c-can't… I-I'll meet you. At the m-memorial." Sherlock scrambled off of his bed and without even pausing to grab a jacket or wipe his face, he slipped out across the landing, dashed down the servants' stairs and out through the mercifully empty kitchen.

"Okay, but… do they know Sherls? Did they find out?"

"N-no." Sherlock hiccupped. "B-but they w-will." He shivered slightly as a cold wind sliced through him. He glanced down. He was wearing one of his usual thin white collared shirts. He wished he'd stayed wearing Greg's hoodie. Sod appearances, it would have been warm, and it smelled like Greg. He sniffed hard, making an effort to pull himself together. He'd be in Greg's arms soon enough, he told himself, squaring his shoulders as he crossed the road and took the road into the village. "Daddy's coming home early." He said, matter-of-factly.

"When, love?"

"Tomorrow." Sherlock couldn't keep his voice from shaking as much as his hands were.

"Tomo- Christ that's soon."

"Very." Sherlock replied hearing a slightly manic giggle escape his mouth. He was unable to stop more hot tears spurting down his cheeks, even as he struggled to get himself in check.

"Where are you?"

"T-turn around." Sherlock replied, shivering again. Stupid wind, he thought savagely, shoving his phone away and curling his arms around his middle as he made his way across the cobbled village square towards the leather and denim clad figure by the memorial.

Greg pushed away from the memorial, which he had been half sitting, half leaning on with his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, and turned to see his Sherlock hurrying towards him, dressed only in his shirtsleeves and black dress trousers, hunched up with his arms wrapped around his midriff and his head down. Greg didn't think twice, just slipped his jacket off and, as soon as Sherlock was in reach, wrapped it around him. Sherlock shoved his arms down the sleeves then leant into Greg, who enveloped him in a huge hug and buried his face in Sherlock's ebony curls.

"It's okay, Sherls." He murmured, reassuringly.

"Is it?" Sherlock replied, in a choked voice, keeping his face hidden in the front of Greg's hoodie.

"Of course. I'll be there with you."

Sherlock looked at him and then away again quickly.

Greg caught the look "What? What's the matter."

"They don't know I'm… y'know." Greg looked confused "Into boys."

"Ah. So basically it's gonna be 'Hi Daddy, welcome home, this is Greg, my boyfriend. Yep, I'm gay, and guess what? I'm gonna have his babies too', is it?"

"Pretty much." Sherlock replied, burying his face in Greg's hoodie again as a fresh wave of tears swept over him.

"Sh-shh." Greg soothed, petting his hair. "It'll go okay." Sherlock snorted "They might surprise you." Greg tried again. Sherlock snorted again. "You _are _their son, after all Sherls." At this Sherlock looked up, sniffing hard and wiping his face.

His voice was hard and his eyes were cold as he said: "I'm an omega, and I'm pregnant. They disliked me for the first. I really doubt the second is going to suddenly endear them to me." He returned his face to Greg's hoodie again.

"If they're that prejudice Sherls, then fuck 'em." Greg resumed his hair-petting "We don't need 'em. I'm on the council's housing list, and Mum says you're welcome at ours for as long as you like, or 'til we get ourselves sorted with a flat, whichever comes first."

Sherlock looked up at him, completely distracted from everything, including his tears. "You're actually really serious about this aren't you?"

"Us living together? Yeah, course."

Sherlock gave him a watery smile. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

**End Note: I never intended this bit to be so drawn out, but it got away from me... blame the plot bunnies. It's my name for a reason ;) xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N First: Okay, guys, guess what? You're getting more than one chapter tonight! I've been so crazy-busy that I've just not had time to put them up, and I'm not mean enough to put them up one at a time ;) **

**Second: To everyone who's commented/favourited/followed or otherwise encouraged me, especially my best friend! (who will as of now be known as my plot-bunny, Rhiannon!)**

**Third: To the guest who asked me to make this last more than a couple of chapters: I've given it some serious consideration and you're definitely right! So, this will last rather longer than I intended, just for you. **

**Finally: You should all know, I have every intention of writing a sequel when I'm done with this so... watch this space ;) And while you're watching this space, have a read of this! **

**_Sherlock's texts are like this and _**_Mycroft's are like this,_ **just in case you've forgotten ;) Enjoy!**

**_7.52pm: Apologies for the wait, Greg wasn't around to brace myself on, so I had to go and meet him. - SH_**

_7.53pm: I was aware. Big Brother has eyes everywhere. Are you okay, Lockie?_

**_7.55pm: I'm better than I was. I snuck Greg in up the backstairs. Is that bad? - SH_**

_7.56pm: I am reassured that you are a relatively normal teenager. I will be returning with Daddy tomorrow._

**_8.00pm: And if my… news, goes down badly..? - SH _**

_8.01pm: Then we leave together, brother-mine._

**_8.02pm: I'll pack a bag - SH_**

_8.03pm: Pessimism in one so young? Such a waste..._

**_8.04pm: Not pessimism, realism. - SH_**

_8.05pm: Hm. Perhaps._

**_8.12pm: Bag packed. That was easy. - SH_**

**_8.13pm: Would it be bad if Greg stayed the night? - SH_**

**_8.16pm: Never mind. He's staying anyway. - SH_**

_8.17pm: I am unsurprised._

**_8.18pm: Goodnight, Mycroft. - SH_**

_8.22pm: Sleep well, Sherlock._

Sherlock fell asleep far quicker burrowed into Greg's chest than he had the last night he had slept in this bed, despite his remaining problems, and slept far more soundly too. He awoke early. Early enough for it to still be dark outside. He shifted a little and Greg's arm tightened around him.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock murmured, apologetically,

"Nah. Was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Hm? Oh. Just making plans. How we can get stuff on the cheap, where I can apply for a fulltime job, that kind of thing."

"You have a job, though."

"Mm, don't think part-timing in the petrol station shop is gonna keep us Sherls. There's the supermarkets, I spose. Maybe some bar work 'til they're born, as a bit of a top up."

"Is that what you really want to do?"

"It'll do 'til something better comes along."

"What do you want to do though? In an ideal world I mean."

Greg was silent for a few minutes. "I think," he said eventually "I think I'd like to be a policeman."

Sherlock looked at him in surprise at first, but the longer he thought about it, the more he could see Greg doing the job. He'd worry about him, of course he would, but if he was happy… well, Sherlock was suddenly sure he'd be good at it. He rolled onto his front, running a hand across Greg's chest "Do it then."

"What?"

"Do it. Go to the local station. See what you have to do."

"I did." Greg admitted

"And?"

"It could work, but…"

"But nothing."

"The hours are long, irregular, I'd have to pull stretches of nights… I wouldn't be around as much."

"You wouldn't be around as much if you were pulling two jobs either."

Greg gazed at him for a moment "You're always right aren't you?" He asked, eventually, a small, fond smile playing around his mouth.

"Not always, but I am now."

"I want that in writing! I'll get an application tomorrow after school."

"I'd better start applying too…" Sherlock replied, uncertainly.

"Oh no. No way."

"Are you saying you don't want me to work?

"No. Well yes, but no. It's not that I don't want you working, it's just… you have school to finish, and those two are going to drain a lot of your energy." He insinuated a hand between them to rest flat on Sherlock's belly. "and then there's all this stress with your parents… I just don't want you over-doing it working on top of all that."

"I don't know what I'd do anyway."

"Something with your science, maybe?"

"Maybe." Sherlock replied, uncertainly.

"Well, you don't have to worry about now, that's for sure. You could still get a bit more shut eye."

"Mmm."

"I'll have to be off in a couple of hours." Greg sighed. "C'mon, cuddle down and sleep."

"You don't have to go…"

"I do, Sherls. I've got no uniform or books or anything."

"Oh yeah." Sherlock replied, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Tell you what, I'll go home and get sorted in a couple of hours, then I'll meet you at the memorial again, and we can walk in together."

Sherlock smiled. "Deal." He replied, curling himself back up against his lover's chest. "Mmm, night." He added, sleepily

Greg smiled softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls again "Night Sherls."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N Does anybody reckon they'll get as far as telling his parents this time? Have a read and see ;) **

Greg kissed Sherlock goodbye at half past five. He crept in at his front door ten minutes later and was interrogated by his mum in the hallway for ten more, and by his pyjama-clad sister on the landing for a further fifteen. He'd have to run to meet Sherlock at this rate, he sighed, dragging off yesterday's clothes and stepping into the shower. Actually, he thought, grabbing his shower gel and double checking it was actually his - there was no way he wanted to go around smelling of roses, that had been embarrassing enough the first time! - before pouring a generous amount into his palm, actually that wasn't a bad idea. If he ran, he could stop in at the local police station and grab a form on the way…

With that thought in mind, he showered in double-quick time, threw on his uniform, sidestepped Molly on the landing and dashed down to the kitchen. Snatching an apple out of the bowl on the table, he kissed his mother on the cheek and hurried back into the hallway and out of the front door.

He glanced at his watch as he set off down the road, bag bouncing against his hip. Ten to seven. Plenty of time.

Sherlock looked critically at himself in the mirror. His eyes were still red from all the sobbing he'd done yesterday. Typical. There were dark shadows under his eyes from the early morning chat session. Even more typical. He sighed and began stripping off his pyjamas, turning away from the mirror. Suddenly he turned back again, discarding his top carelessly on the bed and staring at the mirror. Slowly he turned sideways. Was it his imagination or was there a bump between his hips that hadn't been there the last time he looked? There was! Just a little one, maybe, but a bump nonetheless. Proof. Actual, real, tangible proof that he was pregnant. Smiling slightly, he reached for his phone and snapped a picture in the mirror to send to Greg. The first of many, he suspected, as he tapped out a quick message to go with it and hit send.

Feeling somewhat more cheerful, he wandered into the ensuite to shower, humming quietly to himself.

Dressed in his school uniform, Sherlock walked slowly downstairs. He wished he could get out of going to breakfast. Usually he wouldn't think twice about skipping it, but Greg had already gently reminded him over the weekend that he needed to eat and take care of himself for the twins now. Pausing outside the dining room door, he took a deep breath, sending up a silent plea that the cold flannel against his eyes and the dab of stolen foundation had disguised the hints of yesterday as well as he thought they had. Then he straightened his tie, thought of meeting Greg in less than an hour and a half to put a smile on his face, and entered the dining room.

"Good morning, Mummy." He said, politely, sliding into his seat at the long table.

"Sherlock." His mother gave him a tight-lipped smile and a small nod before returning to her latest fad diet shake-thing. Business as usual then. Thanking whichever deity wanted to claim credit that she wasn't in one of her talkative moods, Sherlock helped himself to a piece of toast and began liberally applying butter and strawberry jam. A few moments passed in a silence broken only by Sherlock crunching his toast, then Mummy cleared her throat "Sherlock, dear, you will be in tonight, won't you? Your father's coming home."

Sherlock nodded, swallowing and forcing himself to smile as her replied "Of course Mummy." He hesitated. "Greg will be here too." He added.

"Greg?" His mother asked, a frown creasing her forehead. "Who's Greg?"

"Someone from school." Sherlock skirted around the dangerous definition of 'friend' "It's been arranged for ages." He fibbed, quickly, when his mother looked like she would protest.

"Oh, very well. I do wish you'd tell me about these things in advance, Sherlock." She sounded peeved, but that wasn't to be helped. There was no way he was facing his father without Greg.

"I'm sorry, Mummy, I thought I had." He lied as he helped himself to another slice of toast. She looked at him suspiciously.

"Did Mycroft let you skip dinner last night again?"

"No, Mummy." He said, soothingly, adding blackcurrant jam this time. "I'm just hungry this morning. I went for a walk last night, it must be the fresh air."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose so. Well," She rose from the table, "I must go and inform the staff of your father's return." She gave him another searching look "Finish up quickly, you don't want to be late."

"Yes Mummy." Sherlock replied, breathing a sigh of relief as the door close behind her. He munched another mouthful of toast, eyeing the clock on the mantelpiece. Greg would probably be leaving now, he thought, shoving the the last corner of toast into his mouth, wiping his hands on a napkin and standing up.

Greg raced down the last street between him and his goal and spun round the corner into the square, catching a lamppost to steady himself. Sherlock was already sitting on the memorial and stood up when he saw Greg approaching. He seemed slightly wrong-footed when Greg didn't stop a reasonable distance away as he normally did in public, but the younger boy didn't seem all that put out when he realised Greg's intention, kissing him back quite willingly.

"And hello to you too!" Sherlock said, when they finally broke apart, a sparkle of humour in his eyes. "What was that for?"

"The picture. I couldn't reply, I was at the police station, but it's my background now."

"You went to the station?" Sherlock said, as their hug deteriorated into Greg's arm around Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's around Greg's waist as they began meandering in the direction of school.

"Mm. Had another chat with a DS, got some forms and info and stuff. 's why I'm late."

Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips.

"I'll do the application tonight… you'll read through it for me, right? Make sure I've dotted my i's and all that?"

"And spelt your name right, of course." Sherlock replied, grinning suddenly.

"Oh yeah, of course." Greg replied with a chuckle and a fond squeeze.

The day seemed to rush by after that, one minute Sherlock was kissing Greg goodbye outside his first class (Chemistry), and the next he was sitting down to lunch. Sitting down to lunch was odd in itself, seeing as he rarely ate lunch, and certainly never actually in the noisy canteen with the rabble that he was forced to attend with, but Greg had insisted. He had even abandoned his mates so they could sit alone together, and Sherlock had not the heart to refuse him. People had stared. Comments had been made about what might have gotten popular, football star Greg's attention on sarcastic, standoffish know-it-all Sherlock. The word 'Omega' was bandied about in less than discreet whispers by more than a few people around them. Sherlock hunched over his lunch, not looking up. Greg resisted the urge to punch somebody. Possibly several somebodies.

"Ignore them." He'd murmured to Sherlock, "They'll get used to it, and there'll be a new hot topic by the end of the week."

"I could give them one, if you'd like." Sherlock had murmured in response, glancing up only for Greg and half-smiling. "I can name at least half-a-dozen worthwhile topics within six feet of us."

"Care to share?"

They'd spent the remainder of the lunch break happily abusing their peers, not to mention one or two of the teachers. Sherlock set off for his next class with a considerably brighter outlook, which sadly lasted all of about forty-five seconds into the class, which was the exact time it took him to deduce the topic of that day's lesson. Religious Education was, he thought, vaguely useful, if you wanted to deduce the motives of others. It was not, however, what he termed personally useful. He wished the stupid subject wasn't compulsory, especially given today's topic. Abortion was not what he wanted to discuss right now. He zoned out completely, blind copying whatever was put on the board and allowing whatever was said to seep into his head unregistered, to be reviewed later. He was halfway down his mental stack of notes on a book he'd been reading last week when he was finally brought, rather rudely, back to the present.

"What about you, Sherlock?" The teacher had said. Sherlock mentally rewound the conversation. His classmates had expressed rather derogatory views on abortion. His teacher had sought an omega's opinion. Sherlock was the only one in the class. He cleared his throat, and then it just sort of fell out.

"Sometimes it's necessary, Sir."

"It's killing off innocent little babies!" One girl exclaimed. Sherlock couldn't remember her name. She obviously wasn't important.

The teacher had opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"What would you do if you found out you were pregnant, now, today?"

"I wouldn't! I'm no slutty little omega."

"Shannon!" Exclaimed the teacher.

Sherlock appreciate the feeble effort, but ignored the jibe and insisted "But if you did? What would you do? Would you keep it?" The girl looked equal parts confused and annoyed "If it was an accident?" Sherlock added before she could answer "What about if you loved him?" he carried on, bombarding the girl with questions. "If he would stand by you? If he wouldn't? What if you were going to uni? What if you had a job? What if you didn't? How about if your parents would be okay with it? Would they be okay with it? What if they weren't okay with it? What if you had to make a decision, now, today, this minute?"

"I don't know alright?!" 'Shannon' exploded, across the end of his sentence.

Sherlock let the ensuing silence stretch for a few seconds before saying, in a much quieter voice, "If you were pregnant, right now, those are the questions you'd be asking yourself."

The bell for the end of the double period rang into the silence. Sherlock wished he could say he was relieved. At least Shannon had taken his mind off his problems. As it was, it hit him like a truck that his problems would be beginning in a little over an hour. He hauled his bag from under the desk as people around him began to move, getting ready to leave.

**End Note: In the next one, I promise ) I'm pretty sure it's worth the wait ;) **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Okay, last chapter for tonight, hope you like it guys ;) **

**This is my plea: If anyone has any ideas for baby names, either sex, please, please, puh-lease stick them in a review! Because you love me, and if not for me, for Sherlock and Greg, because you can't not love those two! ;)**

**Enjoy!**

There was a clock on the mantle of the drawing room at Holmes Manor. Sherlock had always hated that clock, right since he was a small child. There was something about the sinister tick-tick-tick that had made him shiver. It was worse when it chimed. He had vivid memories of climbing into Mycroft's lap whenever it had happened during his childhood. He wished he could climb into Mycroft's lap now, as it chimed the hour, four drawn out, reedy chimes. He wanted to huddle against Greg, but that would rather be showing his hand, so he forced himself to sit still on the centre cushion of the sofa, contenting himself with catching Greg's eye in the mirror over the fireplace. He looked as awkward as Sherlock felt, but he smiled his reassuring smile, as always. There came a noise of crunching gravel on the driveway outside and from the front hall they heard hurrying feet and then a creak as the front door was thrown wide. Sherlock's suit felt too hot and too tight, and he suddenly felt extremely conscious of that bump he had discovered that morning, even though he knew it couldn't be seen. He tugged at his shirt collar, registering his mother's infinitesimal frown at his fidgeting, at the same time as he watched Greg do the exact same thing to the collar of his school shirt.

"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, Sir, and Master Mycroft too. I hope you both had a pleasant journey, Sirs?" The small and mousey housemaid's voice that echoed into the room sounded half afraid of her employer. Sherlock couldn't say he blamed her. They heard Mycroft's voice answering her, apparently his father had more important things than replying to domestic staff on his mind.

Mummy rose from her chair as the drawing room door was thrown open, revealing the imposing figure of Siger Holmes, dressed in his expensive, black three piece suit and tie (in an immaculate full Windsor knot, of course). His face was, sadly, like thunder, as he strode into the room and demanded of his wife "Alright, who is he?!"

"Who is who, Siger, dear?"

"Don't you play games with me woman!" Siger roared, obviously oblivious of their company "I want to know who did it!"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, dear" Violet Holmes gave a small false girlish laugh "perhaps you are tired from your journey. You will soon feel better for a sit down and a cup of tea-"

"I don't want a cup of tea, you stupid woman, I want to know who is the father! Tell me this instant!"

"The father? Siger, what on earth-?"

"You're pregnant, I can smell it!"

Violet Holmes looked affronted "I most certainly am not!" She retorted, most indignantly

"Don't you lie to me! I can smell it, I tell you!"

"Mummy isn't lying, Daddy." Sherlock heard his own voice, felt his lips move, but did not remember consciously ordering the words to form. It seemed, to him, as though a stranger had said them, and he would have believed it to be true, had his parents not paused mid-argument to turn their heads and stare at him.

"And what do you mean by that then, hm?!" Siger rounded on his youngest son, breaking the moment and looming over him.

Sherlock took a very deep breath, "Mummy isn't lying, Daddy, because I'm the one that's pregnant." For one very long moment nobody spoke. Seeing their stunned faces and open mouths, Sherlock was visited by a momentary and very bizarre desire to laugh. Finally, after seventeen years of trying, he'd got their attention.

When his father spoke next - and Sherlock had always known it would be Daddy that led the enquiry; Mummy would keep her opinion to herself, like a good omega wife should, apparently - his voice was like treacle, sticky and sickly sweet. "Now how on Earth did that happen?"

"Well, I'd have thought that was obvious. The angel Gabriel came to me in a dream." Sherlock's tone dripped sarcasm. It was the one gift his father had bestowed upon him that he actually liked. Sarcasm was an excellent protection mechanism.

The sweet tone disappeared immediately "Don't you talk to me like that in front of company, you insolent little-" He paused looking at Greg, his brow furrowed "And just who the hell are you?" He demanded

Greg opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it. Perhaps it was just as well, Greg wasn't entirely sure his reply would have been a polite introduction.

"Greg is a friend from school, Daddy."

"Oh. Oh-ho! 'Friend' is it? We all know what 'friend' means don't we?!" He glared at Greg "You're the no-good alpha that's gotten him into this mess, aren't you?! And are you going to get him out of it? Ohhhhh no! That will be me!"

"No, it won't." Sherlock said, in his firmest voice, which still shook slightly.

"Oh-ho? Going to get yourself out of it are we? And how are you going to manage that?"

"Well first, I'm going to set you straight that I am _not_ having an abortion!"

"Like hell you're not!" His father roared.

"I have explored that particular road fully and decided that it is not for me." Sherlock explained, trying to keep his voice calm, despite the mass of emotions that were coiling and uncoiling in his chest.

"That's not for you to decide!"

"It's not the dark ages anymore, Mr. Holmes." Greg broke in, his tone polite and calm, "Omegas have rights nowadays."

"Ugh! You had to pick a namby-pamby wishy-washy omega bloody rights activist didn't you! You couldn't at least pick from decent alpha stock!"

"Greg is the most decent Alpha I know!" Sherlock yelled suddenly, anger surging through his veins, sudden and all consuming "Far and away more decent than you!"

"How dare you, you filthy little whore! You'll damn well do as I say! You go upstairs this instant, you are never seeing this - this - _pervert_ ever again! And I will arrange for this filthy mongrel child to be dealt with!"

The next surge of emotion Sherlock felt was totally unexpected. Hot burning hatred retreated from the pit of his stomach, leaving only despair and hurt in its wake. To his horror he felt his eyes burning with tears. His voice was completely steady though, when he bellowed: "You will never harm any child of mine!" Then it was more than he could do to control himself and, with a little gasping sob, he leapt to his feet and ran from the room, dodging around Greg and nearly colliding with Mycroft, who had been standing in the doorway, waiting for the moment Sherlock needed him to step in.

"Come, Gregory, I believe we're leaving." Mycroft said, quietly, turning away from his parents to follow more sedately in his brother's path. Greg crossed the room obediently but, when he reached the door, he found he could not bear to go any further without having his say. So he turned on his heel in the doorway and glared straight at Siger.

"I don't care who you work for, or what you say about me, but if you ever, _ever_ make my Sherlock cry again, I swear to God it will be the last thing you do." He growled.

"How sweet."

Greg refused to let the putdown faze him for even a second "Before I go, I'll tell you the things you'll never know otherwise, so that you can fully appreciate what you've lost. Yes, your son is pregnant with my babies - yes Mrs. Holmes, that's right, babies, Sherlock's having twins - and yes, I'll treat him with the respect he - and every other omega _Mister_ Holmes - truly deserves. I'll give them all the best life I can. We plan to live together, and what's more, I plan to ask him to marry me! So you can like it, or you can stand there and stamp your foot and have another tantrum about it, I really don't care. Goodbye and good riddance!" and with that, he turned on his heel for the second time, stalked out of the manor and climbed into the back of the sleek black car parked in the centre of the gravel driveway. The second the door closed behind him, the car pulled away, accelerating smoothly.

Greg turned, not bothering with his seatbelt, and threw his arms around Sherlock, who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

"I d-d-don't even n-n-know why I'm c-c-crying!" Sherlock managed, between sobs.

"You're pregnant Sherls, blame the hormones while you can." Greg advised. On the other side of the car, Mycroft tried very hard, (and very unsuccessfully), not to smile. It was always going to end this way. Sherlock might be inclined to mourn a little, but Greg certainly wouldn't let him do anything but get on with it. There was every chance that these two might just be alright, he thought to himself.

**End Note: Phew, finally. You have no idea how many times I rewrote this chapter! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Hello again! Finally, ****_finally _****the next chapter! Let's just say a combination of Christmas and plot bunnies for other projects got in the way of this being up faster, but here it is, better late than never! Some time has passed between this chapter and the last in the actual fic too, maybe two months or so ;) Enjoy! **

The flat was pretty dire if Greg was honest. It was painted, floored and furnished in more shades of grey than he had previously realised existed. The window panes were usually slick with water and there was mould in the bathroom, but it was secure and it was home. They'd managed to brighten it up a bit with some cushions and rugs and photos tacked to the fridge - their favourites were, ironically, predominantly grey: every one of Sherlock's scan pictures were tacked up in age order. Plus, the rent didn't give them both heart attacks like most two-bed places in Central London had nearly done. They'd had a bit of help from Mycroft, although not as much as Greg had feared such a sudden departure from home would require. They'd both felt it necessary to get Sherlock well away from Holmes Manor just as soon as possible and Greg wasn't labouring under any misapprehensions about exactly how his name had gotten to the top of the council's housing list at just the right moment. It had Mycroft written all over it. Not that he wasn't grateful. He had a hunch it was down to him that a list of Police Approved CPK courses and various College and Uni brochures had popped through the front door less than a week after they'd moved in. Now he was studying four evenings a week at a nearby college and loving every minute of it. He didn't much mind the day work in the local Spar shop either, especially since the shop was ideally situated about ten minutes walk from their front door and less than fifteen from his college. Sherlock had enrolled on a distance learning course, appreciating that going off to Uni a year early as he'd planned was pretty much out of the question:

"Not least because I'm starting to look like a close relation of a whale!" he said with a sigh, as they were getting ready one morning. Hitching up his top - Greg's actually, his own no longer buttoned up - he stared at himself in the mirror. It was true that his bump was more obvious these days, you certainly no longer needed to be medically qualified to tell that he was pregnant, but Greg rather liked it if he was honest.

"You do not look like a whale." He said, stepping up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him and placing a kiss on an exposed patch of neck.

"Hm, perhaps an elephant _is_ more accurate."

"Sherls." Greg chided gently "You look fine." Sherlock's reflection raised an eyebrow "You do! Dead sexy."

At this, Sherlock snorted, dropping the shirt back over his belly - not that it made an awful lot of difference. "Your definition of sexy is warped."

"Call it what you like," Greg insisted, slipping a hand under Sherlock's shirt to rest, splayed, across his belly. "but I know sexy when I see it." He gave him another kiss, on the lips this time, before stepping back and reaching for his jacket. "I'd better get off. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen and I'll show you as much when I get in, but work waits for no man… not even one tucked up with his sexy boyfriend." He winked and Sherlock blushed, grinning and swatting him on the arm.

"Go on then, be off with you! Sexy indeed!" He chuckled, as though it were preposterous.

When Greg returned home, it was nearly eight pm, as was usual for the days he had college after work.

"Sherls?" He called, bolting the door behind him and shrugging out of his coat in the tiny, dingy hallway. Receiving no answer Greg headed into the empty living/kitchen area. "Sherlock? Where are you?" the lack of answer this time had Greg fighting back a whole host of 'what if?' scenarios. He'd always been fairly rational, but the further along Sherlock got, the more Greg seemed inclined to freak out. Sherlock teased him about it usually, but he never complained about the amount of extra cuddling it got him. A quick glance told him that their darkened bedroom was empty, although he could make out Sherlock's uni books spread out across the bed as though abandoned. Fighting an irrational wave of panic, Greg almost threw himself across the few remaining feet to the second bedroom, the soon-to-be nursery they were in the process of doing up. In the doorway he froze, hands resting on the door frame, feeling suddenly warm and fuzzy, as well as slightly silly for (yet again!) panicking about Sherlock for no good reason. The small freestanding lamp in the corner was a the only source of light, there were baby furniture catalogues and paint charts scattered all over the floor and his love was asleep in the most recent addition to the nursery furniture, a solid oak rocking chair. This scene in itself would have been 'one for the album', as his mother would say, but it was something else entirely that had Greg reaching for his phone to snap a few candid shots. Sherlock must have been playing the twins classical music again, for in his drooping left hand he loosely gripped his bow, one end resting on the floor. His right arm was wrapped across his violin, which was propped on his bump in a pose that made Greg want to coo, although he'd never admit to it.

After he'd shoved his phone back into his pocket, Greg just leant against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, and watched his Sherlock sleep. It was one of his favourite pass-times when he needed to wind down at the end of the day.

He'd been standing there a while when Sherlock opened one eye and said very quietly.

"Are you done taking photos? Can I wake up now?"

Greg chuckled "Yeah I'm all done." He stood up properly as Sherlock sat up, carefully lowering his violin to the floor and stretching "You want a cuppa?"

"Mmm, plea-" Sherlock broke off with a little gasp "Greg! Come here, quickly!" He said, sharp and urgent.

Greg nearly jumped out of his skin, panic flashing across his face as he dashed across the room and knelt down beside him "What?! What is it?! What's wrong?!"

Sherlock grabbed his hand "You have to feel this." He said, simply, placing Greg's hand on his belly.

The panic disappeared from Greg's face to be replaced by a look of absolute wonder. "They're… oh wow."

It was hardly the first time the twins had decided to play a little football in his belly, but they seemed most active during the day, when Greg was usually out. Watching his delight at having his hand kicked for the first time was a moment Sherlock had been waiting for.

"They must be anxious to meet their Daddy. They're never this active at this time of night." He remarked, softly

Greg's smile could have lit an entire continent. He leant forward to place his cheek next to his hand "Hi guys." He murmured. "I love you so much. I can't wait to really meet you…" He placed a kiss on Sherlock's belly.

"Better make it two." Sherlock said as Greg pulled gently away a few moments later.

Greg raised an eyebrow "Is this something I should know about?" He joked with a grin,

"They get jealous, honestly."

"Oh well, we wouldn't want that." Greg smiled, leaning down to place another kiss on the opposite side of Sherlock's belly. "There." He smiled "All better."

Sometime later, nestled into Greg's chest as they sat on the sofa drinking tea, Sherlock looked up

"Gre-eg?"

"Mm?"

"Sometimes, I get jealous too..." He hinted, peering at him from under his eyelashes.

A grin that could only be described as 'sexy' appeared on Greg's face and he leant his face towards Sherlock's "Is that so?" He said, his lips a few inched from Sherlock's.

"Mm-hm."

"Well, we can't have that either, can we?" Greg replied, breathily, before leaning in and kissing him.

**End Note: Unbetaed and rewritten three times at stupid o'clock at night, so a plea to grammar Nazis like me, if it's wrong, yell about it! Ta ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Okay, sorry for the wait, it has been one hectic few weeks here, stupid essays and doctors visits, but enough about that! Lets talk about the fic! Its time for some anger and angst, I'm afraid. I know, I know, I'm mean. But I think Greg's done great getting this far, you try living with a bored, hormonal Sherlock Holmes! **

The best part of two months had passed in as close to domestic bliss as Greg could have expected when his other half was very pregnant; had standby settings of horny, bored or hormonal (and occasionally all three) and was inclined to wake him up in the middle of the night to request - or rather demand - that he went out to get some obscure foodstuff, or rubbed his feet, or back, or just about any other part of him that ached.

At school, Sherlock had always had a reputation for being rude - though Greg had soon discovered he never meant to be - amazingly clever at chemistry and the most incredible risk taker. Greg knew he had used to smoke - so had he, come to that - but they'd both given up the moment Sherlock had let on (intentionally or not) that he was pregnant. The babies' safety was paramount, they had agreed. At least, he'd agreed. Sherlock, apparently, hadn't.

Greg was halfway through his Spar shift when his boss called him into the office to take a phone call. Assuming it would be Sherlock to ask him to bring home something to stave off yet another crazy craving - the most memorable was still ham and vanilla ice cream in a brown crusty roll - Greg had gone with an apologetic grin.

"Peanut butter and pickles?" He enquired, as he picked up the receiver "or is it Jammie dodgers and cheese this time?"

"Greg?"

"Mycroft?" Greg said, his face registering surprise. "Sorry, I thought you were Sherlock." There was a silence "Cravings." Greg explained, grinning "What can I do for you?"

"Ah. Sherlock's in hospital."

Greg stood up, suddenly, almost pulling the phone wire out of its socket "The babies?" He asked, the familiar, but suddenly all the more justified feeling of panic creeping up his throat.

"Appear quite happy where they are for the moment." Mycroft replied.

"Then what?"

"They're keeping him in for observation. He's not hurt. Well, a little bruise perhaps, but nothing serious."

"Myc, if you don't tell me what's happened, I swear to God…" Greg broke in, threateningly.

"Sherlock had a little fall. Off a wall to be precise."

"A wall? Which wall? What was he doing on a wall in the first place? He's seven months pregnant!"

"My brother got bored. He does from time to time. He deduced who was responsible for something on the news and decided to go and apprehend them."

Greg stayed very, very quiet, his eyes closed in an effort to control himself.

"There's a car on its way for you."

"Right. Thanks." Greg replied, then dropped the phone back onto the hook and left the office, snatching his jacket as he went.

The hospital was much like every other hospital Greg had ever been in, clean and clinical. He didn't really notice as he dashed through the corridors towards the room the driver of Mycroft's car had directed him to.

"Sherlock?" He gasped, as he stepped through the door "What the hell is going on?"

"They're making me stay when there's nothing wrong with me."

Mycroft, who had been sitting in a chair at Sherlock's bedside when Greg arrived, rose to his feet

"I'll pop and get a coffee while you two chat. Can I get one for anyone else?"

Sherlock shook his head, waving the cup of tea in his right hand.

"No thanks." Greg replied, stepping to one side of the doorway so Mycroft could pass. When he'd gone, Greg crossed to the bed, slipping off his jacket and throwing it on the abandoned chair as he sat down on one edge of the bed. "Sherlock, what the hell were you thinking, going after someone in your condition?" He asked, quietly

"I was fine. I miscalculated the width of the wall, that's all."

"You could've been hurt." Greg's voice was soft as he reached out to stroke Sherlock's fringe out of his eyes. "The twins-"

"Mycroft's already given me this lecture." Sherlock said, boredly.

"Well I'm giving it to you too." Greg replied, frowning. "What gives you the right to risk our children like that?!" He exclaimed, annoyed by Sherlock's I-don't-care attitude.

"There was no risk!"

"You fell off a wall!"

"It wasn't a big wall!"

"Oh, I'm _so _ relieved." Greg deadpanned, with a bit of a snarl.

"It could have been worse. I'm not hurt, the twins are fine, they've said. They're only being over cautious, that's all."

"Damn right it could have been worse! Why didn't you phone the police if you figured something out? Or even Mycroft?"

"Mycroft is of the opinion that the police should be allowed to do their job, and the police won't listen to a teenager on a murder enquiry. I mean, they should have seen the cases were connected, it was so _obvious_ that it was serial killer, any fool could have seen it…" That was probably the moment Sherlock realised that he'd put his foot in it. Greg's face was suddenly very white and he sat very quiet and still, not looking at Sherlock, every muscle in his body tense. "Greg?" Sherlock ventured, hesitantly after a while.

When Greg answered, it was in a voice so deadly calm and quiet that Sherlock shivered. He'd never heard him use that tone before, and he knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. "You went after a serial killer while pregnant with my children?"

"They were in no-"

"Did you or didn't you?" Greg cut him off in the same eerily even voice.

"Yes, fine, I did!"

"Yeah. That's what I thought you just said." He sat very still for another long moment, staring at the bed and then he raised his gaze to Sherlock's face "How dare you?" he began quietly enough, but his voice steadily rose "How _dare _you?! Why would you put them at such risk? After all we've gone through to keep them! Don't you love them? And what about me? I love you. I love them. Does that not make you feel anything at all? Don't you care? Do we mean that _little _to you?"

"Greg, no! That's not fair-"

"Don't. Don't you even talk to me right now. I don't _believe_ you did that!" Greg stood up suddenly, shrugging swiftly into his coat and walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, in a voice that threatened tears.

"For a walk. I need to think, to just… I need to be away from you right now." And without looking back, he left.

**End Note: Do you hate me now? I hate me now, but I had to... there will be more very soon. a day or so, tops, I promise. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N First, a quick thank you to the wonderful person who actually pointed out mistakes i hadn't noticed in chapter ten. seriously you're awesome :) Other than that, here you go, the next one, as promised :) Enjoy guys!**

How could he have done that? Greg thought, furiously for the millionth time, as he strode blindly through the city streets some hours later, head down, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets in tightly balled fists. How could he be so_ stupid? _How could he risk everything for a few minutes poxy adrenalin high? Greg kicked fiercely at the litter in the gutter as he crossed the road, giving it a savage glare, as if the crushed Dr. Pepper bottle had done him a personal wrong. How could he risk _himself_ like that, let alone the twins? Didn't he know what it would do to Greg if he ever lost him? And that was when it struck him. No. Perhaps Sherlock _didn't_ know. When he wasn't being all 'it's obvious, you're all stupid', he tended to be a very insecure prat. Could he actually not know? It didn't cancel everything out, of course it didn't, but the mere possibility that Sherlock didn't know Greg would fall to bits without him now… at two in the morning, it was more than enough to turn his blood to ice. Three in the morning?! He squinted at his watch, tilting it towards a streetlight, convinced he'd misread it, but no, two-oh-four am was indeed what it said. He looked around, seeing the darkness for the first time. Bloody hell, where had the time gone? He'd missed his evening class for a start, not that he'd have been able to concentrate anyway. He slowly turned and directed his footsteps homeward. He sincerely doubted the hospital would let him see Sherlock at this time, and he had work in the morning. Whatever was going on they certainly couldn't afford him missing even another half day. Sherlock would just have to make do with a letter if he should be allowed home before Greg got off work at three-thirty. It was nearly three when he got back to the flat, his anger had blind-walked him so far out of his own neighbourhood. He stayed up another half an hour, drafting and redrafting the letter while he still had enough sense to do it properly. Then, as the last of his energy drained away, he fell onto the bed fully clothed, thinking that was at least good that he was pretty used to bugger all sleep from all the occasions when Sherlock was in one of his 'I can't get comfortable' wriggly moods. He slept like the dead for the three and a quarter hours until his alarm went off.

For as long as Mycroft Holmes could remember he'd been the one who'd picked his little brother up when he fell down; dried his tears; kissed his bumps and bruises and smoothed on the antiseptic cream as needed. As he'd grown up, the soothing had become a little less physical, a little more about pride stroking and reassurance. Looking at Sherlock's lost, devastated face when he arrived back from the canteen, Mycroft more than suspected that none of that was going to be anywhere near enough this time. Sherlock's aching eyes moved up to meet his big brother's gaze and Mycroft's automatic move, though they hadn't been the most cuddly of siblings for a long time, was to cross to the bed and envelope his brother in his arms. Even more surprisingly, Sherlock nuzzled into his chest willingly.

"I never meant-" He said, before tailing away into murmurs that Mycroft didn't need to hear to understand. He could well imagine what Sherlock had 'never meant' to do. He'd never _meant_ to be reckless; he'd never _meant_ to put his babies in danger; he'd never _meant_ to fall from the wall and end up in hospital; he'd never _meant_ for Greg to find out he'd gone after a serial killer; he'd never _meant_ for him to be so hurt and angry.

"I know, brother-mine." He soothed, trailing his fingers through Sherlock's curls as the younger man sought comfort in his warmth. "But you did, and you are sorry - you _are_ sorry, I take it?"

"Of course I am…" Sherlock murmured.

"Well, quite. You are sorry and no real harm has been done. I remain quite convinced that you will be forgiven, in time."

Sherlock pulled away from his brother enough to look at him "But Greg-"

"Needs time, little brother. Time in which you can only show that you are sorry and be patient."

Sherlock licked his lips and nodded, reluctantly.

"And for now, the best way to show you are sorry is by taking care of yourself and your offspring. And to do that, you must sleep."

"Stay awhile with me?" Sherlock asked, once his brother had gently extricated himself from the hug and laid Sherlock back into the pillows.

Mycroft regarded him for a second before giving him a small smile "Of course." He settled himself back in the guest chair again and, after a moment, drew from his jacket pocket a very old and battered book.

Sherlock fell asleep to the familiar words of Treasure Island, his favourite childhood bedtime story. Greg didn't come back to the hospital that night, returning to the flat alone. Sleeping alone for the first time in months, both men had bad dreams that night.

At eleven o'clock the next day the hospital finally discharged Sherlock. Mycroft had long ago had to go back to work (at about five that morning to be precise), and Greg had not returned to the hospital yet, either still mad at him; busy with work or both, so Sherlock made his own careful way home, albeit in the back of the car his brother had provided. Greg would be at work by now he knew. Part of him was grateful. Most of him rebelled at being alone in that tiny flat. It was so empty when he was alone. So lifeless. He allowed himself just one moment to think of what it might be like if he were alone there permanently before he clamped down on the feelings hard, pushing them into the the furthest corner of his mind palace, shutting them safely away in the room where he kept bad thoughts. Worrying was bad for the babies after all.

There was a tiny part of him, so small and stupid that he didn't even dare acknowledge it, that hoped as he climbed out of the car, that Greg would be waiting for him in the flat. He wasn't of course, but there was a letter in his handwriting on the kitchen counter.

_Sherlock,_

_Yes, I __**am**__ still pissed at you. Yes, I __**am**__ coming home tonight. Yes, I __**am**__ probably going to yell some more. BUT! When I'm done yelling, I __**am**__ going to cook you dinner. And when we're done with dinner, I __**am**__ going to make love to you._

_Take care of our fucking babies you git, please remember that they __**are**__ part mine too._

_I love you. All of you. Even the reckless bits._

_Greg_

_xxx_

Sherlock re-read it twice, just to be sure he wasn't mistaken and Greg really wasn't leaving him, or something else equally dramatic and heartbreaking. Then, once he was certain, he began to laugh. He laughed until he cried and then, when he was done crying he reread the letter again.

"You see guys? Your daddies love you." He remarked to his bump, patting it gently and chuckling when his hand got kicked as if in response.

**End Note: Please, please let me know what you think :) i do love to hear from you all :)**


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